


tell me you don't (it feels like you do)

by comorbidity



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bathtubs, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27525775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comorbidity/pseuds/comorbidity
Summary: Stupid. Stupid that Alex agreed to this. Stupid that George could have such an effect on him without even trying. George so rarely looks like he's properly enjoying himself, and the vibes are immaculate. Alex falls a little more in love with every passing second, and he hates himself for it.(alternatively: what's a little shared bathwater between friends?)
Relationships: George Andrew/Alex Elmslie
Comments: 6
Kudos: 103





	tell me you don't (it feels like you do)

Alex thinks this must be some nasty prank the universe is playing on him. Though prank isn't quite the right word - torture is more akin to what he's experiencing, especially given that it's the second round of the day.

Somehow, surely thanks to callous cosmic forces with a poor sense of humour, he's been roped into aiding with George's most unfortunate merchandise concept yet, not once but twice today. That means two separate occasions of having to watch his flatmate bathe while fully clothed so that they can jar the water and sell it to strangers on the internet. Earlier there had at least been company and cameras to make the whole endeavour slightly more tolerable on Alex's part.

Now, it's just him and George and the mounting anxiety in Alex's chest.

Alex has already reprimanded himself a dozen times over for agreeing to help with the final batch of "product," both because he's loath to encourage such a bizarre business idea and because he's had to suffer through seeing George plastered in wet clothing once already. Choosing to endure it for a second time makes him little more than a desperate idiot setting himself up for a bit of silent, agonised pining - but that much he knows is a given. Wouldn't be the first case of tragic behaviour.

"Remind me why you needed my help again," Alex asks. He watches as George shuts off the faucet and privately braces himself for what will come next. With the cameras off, George is far less dressed up than before, having ditched the disguise and swapped the hoodie and trousers for shorts and a t-shirt. A white one, even, as though he ever wears white. Alex knows someone out there has it out for him.

"I've already done about six dozen," George laments as he steps into the tub (the socks are, unfortunately, still part of the outfit). "I just wanted a bit of company." He settles into the tub, hissing slightly at the temperature of the water.

Alex distracts himself from the way George's shorts are billowing around his thighs as they go underwater and moves to grab one of the empty jars from a box on the countertop. "Yeah, and get me to do all the hard work."

"I just said I've done six dozen of em." George has slid down into the tub so that only his head and shoulders are above the waterline. 

Alex tries very hard to ignore the semi-translucence of the wet shirt as he bends down to retrieve some of the bathwater. "You owe me," Alex mutters, screwing on the lid and setting the jar aside. Truly a horrible thing to be selling, and yet people are buying it. He wonders if the bathwater would sell as well if George wasn't surrounded by an air of intrigue - wonders how well his own bathwater might sell - and scolds himself for even daring to think about it.

Though the thought of marketing his own bilge is a faint distraction from the low-boil desire to join George in the tub, albeit not for the sake of doubling the product value. He's torn between ethical distaste and a particularly embarrassing compulsion - one George certainly doesn't need to know about.

"Sure, I'll give you a discount," George replies easily. He's grabbed the rubber duck and is toodling it around aimlessly in front of him. If he's taken any notice of the tension that Alex can only assume he's been projecting in waves, he says nothing about it. Not that he should, given it's all his fault, whether he's aware of what he's doing or not.

"Your generosity is without limit, mate." Alex grabs another jar and stoops toward the tub, pausing to flip George off when the other flicks him with a bit of water. Alex can't stand the merry little smirk playing about George's lips - he's having too much fun with this, and while Alex is always pleased to see George actually having fun with a video, he dearly wishes it wasn't at his expense. Not that George would know that, of course. That's all Alex's problem.

"You're sure you don't want to hop in?" George asks. "This batch could be special edition. Make a mint off that."

Alex masks his pang of distress with a grimace of disappointment (which he hopes can be taken any number of ways appropriate to the situation without condemning him entirely). "Grim. No thank you. I'd prefer not to give my DNA to weirdos online." Far be that from his real concerns about hunkering down in a tub with George, but he can't very well say that. There's no easy way to tell your best mate that being in such close quarters while sopping wet is somehow just as appealing as it is frankly absurd. 

They don't even have the excuse of recording to justify any of the ridiculousness now. This is just George acting bewilderingly (and unfairly) flirtatious while Alex is put through the paces of his own restraint... out of the goodness of his heart, as George so succinctly put it.

That's just as much a lie, though, given that this is pure selfishness, through and through. Alex knows he wouldn't have been so quick to help if he didn't get to ogle George at least a little bit, painful though it is to make things worse for himself. Not to mention the manual labour aspect of the whole process.

"Coward," George is saying, pinging Alex with water again. "You're no fun at all."

Alex ignores the taunting as he places the second filled jar on the counter. "If I decide to start selling toenail clippings on my shop, I'll be making you package them."

"Eugh, that's so much worse than bathwater." He sounds genuinely disgusted, as if soaking in the tub while clothed so that he can sell water with little bits of him in it is that much more palatable. 

"Speak for yourself." Alex comes back with another jar and crouches down this time (ostensibly for balance but truthfully to give himself an excuse to be that much closer to his idiot flatmate in his idiot wet clothes - pathetic).

"I really think you should hop in," George says. His affable tone does nothing to indicate whether or not he's actually serious, but Alex is beginning to lean toward the affirmative. More baffling is the fact that George isn't usually the one to play up the banter without making it abundantly clear, with his perfectly dry delivery, that he's only joking. Right now, Alex can't tell. And that's alarming.

"No?" Without the freedom to vocalise just why that would be a terrible idea, Alex only manages the weak refusal. He can no longer meet George's eye, afraid that the mischievous glimmer there will make him blush. Stupid. Stupid that he agreed to this. Stupid that George could have such an effect on him without even trying. George so rarely looks like he's properly enjoying himself, and the vibes are immaculate. Alex falls a little more in love with every passing second, and he hates himself for it.

George has splashed him a little more vigorously this time. Alex feels the water droplets patter across the bridge of his nose, and he wipes them off on his sleeve with one brusque motion. A horrible thought has occurred to him, and he realises his position of vulnerability while knelt down by the tub. "If you pull me in there, I might actually kill you."

"Alex, I can't believe you'd accuse me of something like that." But the resentment doesn't track; Alex knows George well enough to distinguish his current mock indignation (loud and enunciated) versus his genuine tone of offense (shrill and high). "Even if you did leave your phone on the counter this time."

Alex has maybe half a second to process this claim and just enough time to look around and confirm that yes, he has in fact left the only alibi protecting him from being forced to partake in George's little stunt out of arm's reach. Before Alex can think to defend himself, he feels a mighty tug on his arm. There's no Will to help push him in now, but George is stronger than he looks.

To his credit, George manages to haul Alex into the tub without sending him headlong into the wall opposite. Alex's landing is no less graceful for the dexterity, however, and he finds himself partially submerged with his legs flailing partway out of the water. When he finally manages to get some purchase on the slippery ceramic, he lifts his head from the too-warm bath and takes a spluttering breath.

"What the fuck -" The shock and anger are offset by the sudden dawning horror at just where he's wound up - that is, partially atop of George, who has done little more than part his legs a little to allow room for Alex's arrival.

George is cackling loudly, the bastard. He wipes tears from the corners of his eyes (a bit useless with wet hands) and catches his breath between gasps of laughter. One of his hands is still around Alex's arm, and he gives it a small tug of invitation. "Well, now that you're most of the way in..."

Alex thinks he might be delirious. His arms are propped to either side of George, and their faces are close - not _too_ close, but enough so that Alex can feel his throat closing up in fear. George is right there and he's smiling and his fingers are still pressing into Alex's arm and they're now both very wet and both in the tub, and Alex assumes he must have entered a parallel reality because there is absolutely zero excuse for them to be pulling this sort of stunt without cameras recording it for posterity (and views).

"You're in a mood," Alex says, voice weaker than he would have liked it to be. This level of teasing isn't George's typical modus operandi, and Alex can only chalk so much of it up to George's strange enthusiasm for this little project. Mostly Alex is shellshocked in his confusion, still paralysed in a notably compromising stance atop his flatmate. Just normal things to do with your friends.

"What can I say?" George asks roguishly. "It's good content."

A bolt of pure panic lances through Alex's chest at the thought that this might be recorded after all. Before he can rise out of the tub to scour the room for a hidden camera, George restrains him with a squeeze of the arm and another ear-splitting laugh. 

"I'm joking, god." He adjusts himself slightly so that he's not quite as pinned under Alex, though he still hasn't let go. Alex can feel the press of each individual finger like points of electricity humming along his skin. 

"Mind letting me go now?" Alex still thinks he sounds a bit too unnerved, tone an octave higher than usual. "Damage is done, innit. You've got your shared bathwater. Don't much feel like going for a swim, thanks." The rambling comes across semi-coherent to Alex's own ears; his focus is bent on getting away from George and George's face before he does something egregiously stupid.

"Told you I wanted company," George replies. "Figured you of all people would want to join."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alex asks through a dry mouth, thoughts of absconding suddenly brushed aside.

"I mean, I'm not blind." His brows raise above the rim of his glasses (which he's also elected to wear in the bath for whatever reason). 

Alex spends what feels like an eternity attempting to parse that statement, breaking it down into its possible meanings and waffling between them for the most likely. Is George referring to Alex being easy to read? That would be unsurprising, if not disappointing, since Alex knows that his best laid plans of silence and subtlety are frequently out the window when he's actually having to deal with George directly. Or was the comment a simple reference to physical appearances? Alex swallows back a wave of dizziness at the thought. 

Surely it's the former. Alex contemplates attempting to drown himself in the bathwater. A fitting way to go.

"Dunno what you mean," Alex says. It's a half-truth at least. He tries not to look at George's lips and the way they're still crooked upward into an audacious grin, though his eyes, alight with a curious sort of inquisitive glee, are not much easier to handle.

He can't seem to get his bearings around this ebullient, confident George - a rare sight when there's no alcohol involved. Alex is so used to the other in his almost insufferably pragmatic dryness and oft-tight mouthed repartee that being levelled with this amount of cheek - while nigh cosied up in a bathtub, no less - is more than he thinks he can handle.

George lifts a shoulder. "I mean, pretty sure I'm right, but prove me wrong." And Alex can now see a hint of the usual George flicker in those eyes - just a trace of doubt, and the fear of having said too much, of having overstepped the well-defined boundaries of what he chooses to share.

Alex figures he has a few seconds at most to decide what to do. Either he can continue to press for details so as to avoid making a very terrible and very awkward assumption and risk driving George back into emotional reclusion out of embarrassment, or he can make that terrible and awkward assumption and hope that it doesn't get him decked in the nose.

And George's face is still really rather close to his own.

Alex leans forward and kisses George before he can second guess himself any further. Screw it, he figures, all caution to the wind. If he's wrong, then he'll have at least gotten a kiss out of it. And one while they're both soaking in the tub together at that.

It's brief. When they part (Alex's eyes opening lazily, as though he's come out of a daze - which in a way, he has), George still has his hand on Alex's arm. Alex takes this as a good sign.

"Do you think we should include this on the label description?" Alex asks. He can't think of anything more intelligent to say, but he needed to say _something_.

George groans. "Don't even joke about that." For a man who has just been kissed by his platonic-but-not-really-but-only-secretly flatmate, he looks remarkably at ease. He finally lets go of Alex and gestures for the other to get comfortable.

Alex rises out of the straddled position and, resigned to getting completely soaked now, sits back along the other end of the tub. The water level has risen dangerously close to the rim, and their legs don't fit terribly well in the space between them, but they're now settled in opposite one another. Quite the turn of events this evening.

"What are you playing at?" Alex's attempts to repress the question have failed. He's still too stunned to process what just occurred.

"I'm not playing at anything," George replies indignantly. "Maybe it was just a good opportunity."

Several possible interpretations that sentence flicker through Alex's mind, each seeming more unlikely than the last. To prank Alex? To trick him into revealing his dumb crush? To proposition him out of nowhere?

"A good opportunity," Alex replies with zero inflection.

"Yeah, told you - we sell this as both our bathwater, and we'll be making bank."

Alex tries to hold back a barking laugh and fails. Of course he was talking about the business opportunity. How could it have been anything else?

"What?" George actually looks properly offended this time around. "It's a great idea!"

"I can't believe you," Alex says between hiccups of laughter. George has managed to lure him into helping out with the bathwater sale project, yank him into the tub with him just to be a prick, and bait him into a kiss that may or may not have been warranted - and he's still only concerned about the money he stands to make.

Alex wonders how much earlier he could have brought up his little predicament with George if he had known that George would be less bothered about a kiss than he was about maximising profits. And beyond that, he can't tell whether or not he should feel insulted.

"What - oh what, is this about the kiss? That was - shut up, stop laughing - I didn't think it was a big deal, you know. Felt right."

"Felt right." Alex parrots George once more, joyously exasperated this time. "I was wondering why you were in such a good mood. It's cause you were planning on _using me_. For bathwater and for physical favours."

"I resent that," George says in a lofty tone. "I saw you looking when we were filming earlier."

Correct on that point. "You saw nothing," Alex rebukes delicately. "I think you're projecting."

"Me?" George nudges one of Alex's legs with his foot. " _You_ kissed _me_ , in case you've already forgotten."

"Yeah, and you pulled me into the water with you, mate." Staggering that it had been a calculated gesture for more reasons than initially anticipated.

"Fair point." George looks up at the box on the countertop, prompting Alex to come to the same conclusion (probably): the rest of the jars are now out of their reach.

"Now we're just two morons in a bathtub," Alex says. "Can't even get the job done." Yet again he's struck the illogical nature of this development, having gone from covetous glances to sharing both a bath and a kiss, all in the course of a day. It's so strange he somehow has to believe it, even if a part of him feels like he's still in the twilight zone.

"We're just increasing the concentration," George replies sagely. He has the rubber duck again, and he scoots it in Alex's direction.

"That's disgusting." Still true, much as he's glad to be where he’s at. The duck floats into his hand and he brushes it aside without really seeing it, because he's back to staring at George's mouth and thinking about how very much he wants to kiss him again.

"Hey, that's us you're talking about." And then George spares Alex the need to act on his urges by shuffling forward and being the one to kiss him instead. Alex can hear some water slopping out of the tub, but the mess is unimportant. All that matters is how George has got one hand gripping the back of Alex's head while the other guides his jaw in the kiss. The embrace is graceless, weighted by sodden clothes and suffocated by the confined space, but it's no less intense for the inconvenience.

Even as George is nipping at his lower lip, Alex cannot believe that what he's experiencing is real and not some exquisite dream sequence that struck him while he dozed off editing. It certainly feels real - everything from the warm water to the drenched hoodie to George's tongue probing into Alex's mouth. If it's a dream, then it's cruel in its intimate legitimacy.

But Alex doesn't really think it's a dream. 

He's sitting in his flatmate's tub fully clothed because George wants to sell his bathwater on the internet, and they just so happen to be snogging as well. Ludicrous, but somehow true.

Alex reflects upon his earlier belief that the universe was playing a prank on him. If that's still the case, then it's gone too far. It's possible, however, that the universe is letting him catch a break this time. Quite a nice one, in fact.

The only cost is to his integrity, of course, if George is belligerent enough to add Alex's name to the product description. But that's an issue he can address another day.

He's in the middle of a bath, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> look i wrote something happy again!  
> i only just watched that stupid video recently & george's energy in it was So good i was inspired
> 
> title is from vance joy's 'i'm with you'


End file.
